12-20 May 2007
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Interesting Signs
I have seen three interesting signs on this trip. On my way to Golant, and soon after leaving Lanhydrock, I found this humorous sign on the edge of a wood which dropped steeply to the river Fowey:
DANGER
SHEEP
DROP
Soon after leaving Polperro the next day afternoon, I found the following:
CEMETERY
VISITORS ONLY
What are we to make of this sign – that death is no longer permanent? Does it suggest that some people might prefer a cemetery to the world outside? Or perhaps it’s a Christian message that resurrection is certain.
When I arrived at Looe, a sign at the entry to a car park read:
ALL VEHICLES
MUST PAY
Humans no longer exist on the road. Vehicles have become personified living things that are to be addressed directly.
In Dartmoor, on the approach to Moretonhampstead I passed the village of North Bovey. In one house they sold locally collected honey. Bottles of honey were packed in a wicker basket. A little placard with the picture of a smiling bee stuck out amongst the bottles. With an implicit suggestion of being organic and free range, it read:
BEE
HAPPY
Knightshayes Court
Silhouette in the gardens of Knightshayes Court
I had this idea of visiting the coast of North Devon. In particular, I had hoped to do walks in Lynton, Lynmouth and Porlock. Being Sunday, I knew it would not be possible to leave Dartmoor early morning, travel to North Devon and return to Exeter by nightfall. So I travelled to Exeter. Here I boarded a bus to Tiverton to visit this garden. Because I had not planned this properly in advance, I had to waste a lot of time waiting for buses. I also got off at the wrong stop at Tiverton. The result was that I had to undertake a long walk to Knightshayes Court. I did not visit the house. I had just enough time to walk the gardens.
The Pool Garden captivated me. Pretty water lilies floated on the water. By one side of the pool, the branches of a weeping silver pear tree hung closely to the water’s surface. This circular pool was enclosed by a yew hedge with battlements. The water reflects the green of the hedges. Such formality of an English garden is quite similar to the pond at Bodnant. By this pool, I took my seat to enjoy a few quiet moments. The hedges create and protect this sheltered space of quietness. The canopy of trees beyond the hedge completes this ambience. The elements of this garden are simple and few. Water lilies on the water provide a colourful focus. Yew hedges provide a uniform background without distraction.
This is in stark contrast to the gardens that preceded it, where the beds were too many. The plants were not in the best of form or colour. Perhaps this was not the right season to visit them. I found nothing interesting in the Paved Garden or the Chase Lawn. The topiary was too fantastic and artificial. What are those little figures cavorting the battlements? Are they bear-cubs, foxes, hounds or what? There is something here to appreciate in the art of hedging but it has as many faults as merits. The yew stems are bent and twisted in the most unnatural ways. Can there be anything more forced than a yew trying to leap as a hound? The little merit in this topiary is to the credit of the yew. The yew is pliable. It bends easily to man’s will.
I have always realised that it is important to strike a balance between what is formal and what is not, between manicured lines and tangled curves. Many woods surround the more formal gardens close to the house. After walking through these woods, I concluded that perhaps the strict lines of the Paved Garden or the Chase Lawn had a purpose if not aesthetic appeal. From these gardens, the woods and the gentle slopes of the South Garden gained a greater allure. It was almost as if we should be drawn towards them in search of a new experience.
The south facade of the house supported a number of climbers, none of which were in bloom. However, I could imagine how magnificent some of them would look with magnolias, roses and exotic plants flowering in their own seasons. The house led to some terraces of flowering beds and walking paths. Further down, the lawn gave way to the South Garden. Here I found some huge rhododendrons ablaze with colour. A few of these plants are sufficient to give woods or gardens a certain focus and highlight. These plants of colour and solid form draw the surrounding elements of a garden around them. All perspectives almost depend on them for beauty. They may be as strong as a great mass of colour in the foreground or as subtle as a touch of colour at the corner of a picture to which the eye returns repeatedly.
Rhododendrons add colour to the scene
I had come to Knightshayes because I could think of nothing else for today. It has been yet another garden with more flowers, smells and scenes. I enjoyed it. However, it was not a great deal different from Lanhydrock or Trelissick. I suppose I had been searching for a special moment in which I could lose myself. It has happened often on this trip, not exclusive to garden visits. I suppose such moments can be obtained by ordinary and familiar scenes as well, so long as we are in the mood to receive and appreciate. Nevertheless, one of the travails for a traveller is the desire to see and do what others have seen and done before them. If others have travelled the world, why should we be excluded? Should we not sample the same joys and wonders that others have experienced? Should we not desire?
Having travelled a great deal, I am beginning to see the end of the road. I have probably travelled more in Britain than what most British can claim. It gives me only pain to realise that human happiness should depend on the fading scent of a flower. When they are out of season and the garden beds are bare, where should we turn?
In a New Light
Arriving into Plymouth by bus
I would have preferred to stay in the countryside but having no better option of accommodation or bus connections, I left Bodmin Moor and arrived at Plymouth for a night. From Liskeard, I called Globe Backpackers to book a bed. After completing this booking, I reminded the guy that I had stayed with them more than two years ago. He confidently replied that he had recognized my voice. “Do you remember the room you stayed in?” he enquired. Trivialities! The fact that I remembered staying here is in itself an achievement for me.
When I arrived at Plymouth bus station, I remembered meeting here an ex-soldier of the Falcon Islands war. I wondered if he was still as dejected and rejected by society. I did not remember the exact location of the hostel. I had to search for it all over again. The only things I remembered were the Hoe, the Sound, Smeaton’s famous tower and the statue of Sir Francis Drake. The only feelings I recalled were those I had recorded in my earlier notes. I had seen Plymouth late at night and in the early hours of a dull day. Nonetheless, I had enjoyed that brief visit. On this visit, I had much more time and was able to look at it in a new light. The weather was bright and sunny. People made good use of such splendid weather. Boys and girls dived from a high platform into the sea. A submarine cut across calm waters in the bay. Yachts caught the wind in their sails and took their courses in leisure. Ice-cream vendors made excellent business. Families and couples picnicked on lawns. Kids played with their skateboards. A group of students sat on a lawn and discussed. A baby cried briefly somewhere. A couple kissed on a bench overlooking the sea. Plymouth was beautiful.
A sunny day at Plymouth as a submarine passes by
Smeaton’s tower, banded in stripes of red and white, looked longingly at its once cherished home 14 miles out at sea. The shutters of its windows stood wide open to hear a message from home. With its glass lantern lookout it kept a continuous watch on this small but important stretch of the British coast. To break the spirit of a living thing, there is nothing worse that being made redundant and useless. The world needs it no more. Eddystone Rock has found a new guardian. But Smeaton’s tower has done its job. It knows that it continues to be an inspiration for many. It rests contentedly with this realisation.
Towards the end of the trip, I arrived at Exeter. My first visit to this ancient city had been a wash out. I had had little chance to admire the exterior of the Cathedral. Instead I had opted to see it from the inside. On this visit I had a chance to do the reverse. It is a strange feeling to come to the same place and stand in exactly the same spot after a gap of two years. It is strange because on one hand it evokes nostalgia and on the other hand it gives a new perspective to a familiar scene. It is strange for a traveller whose journeys are not meant to trace circles and whose destinations are meant to be fresh and new.
The magnificent West Front of Exeter Cathedral
What was the new perspective I gathered on this revisit to Exeter Cathedral? I found that it did not have the imposing west front of Lincoln. It maintained a low profile, almost squatting to the ground. Yet it was rich in decoration. It represented the best of Decorated Gothic in its flowing curves. The imaginative patterns contained in window traceries are probably the best that Britain can offer. Saints and knights, sitting cross-legged on their carved pedestals within canopied niches, gossiped in whispers about a stranger they had seen two years ago.
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